Spotswood

By Bruce I. Brodkin

The summer of 1959 is no ordinary summer at Camp Spenser, and counselor Bob Berman is struggling to make sense of it all.

A series of strange events seem to be targeting the campers and putting them in danger. While most would consider them simple accidents, Berman suspects foul play—and until he fi gures out who is responsible, he won’t stop looking.

Meanwhile, a shocking discovery links the camp’s location to a forty-year-old mystery, and NYPD detective Lawrence Geller lends his skills in forensics and criminal psychology to the case.
 
The result is a dangerous and action-packed investigation into some of Lake Spotswood’s most deeply held secrets—one that threatens to cost Berman and Geller their very lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Brodkin
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499309416

Book preview

Prologue

Summer 1920

The rain was coming down in torrents. It had been raining off and on for

several days, and now the ground was so soggy that his boots sank almost

a foot into the mud. It was a Herculean task that required all his strength just

to lift his feet, much less drag the body.

He had readied the shallow grave days before, and now his efforts would

be rewarded. The body was covered with mud, yet the wet earth could not

conceal the horror of her death. Her face had been mutilated and her skull

crushed. The eye socket on the left side had been shattered, with the eye pro-

truding, creating a macabre mask. The right side of the skull had been severely

fractured and was covered with mud, matted hair, and blood.

Tugging at her, he remembered the mocking way she had made fun of

him, calling him fat boy. Of course most of what he remembered was just

his perverted imagination, but it made it easier for him to kill her, crushing her

skull with a shovel like stepping on a bug.

At the end of the lake in the Kittatinny Mountains in northwestern New

Jersey, he buried ten-year-old Lilly Miller, hopefully never to be found.

***

The rain had stopped hours before, but Lilly had not come home and it was

time for dinner. Worried, her father and older brother went out looking for

her. After searching for an hour with no results, Sam Miller and his son George

started to become concerned. It would be dark in a few hours, and this was

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S p o t s w o o d

not like Lilly. Their overwhelming fear was the lake, although Lilly was a good

family back home and we will make arrangements for a service for Lilly. My

swimmer for her age.

rabbi will give me guidance."

Sam and George went back to their lakeside house, hoping that Rose Miller

"Isn’t there something, anything that will help? I’m a healer, sir, and I wish

would have news that her daughter had returned. Unfortunately Lilly had not

to be of some use."

returned and the mood of the family turned to fear. Sam grabbed his hat and

"You’re a kind man, and I’m sure an excellent and caring physician, but

ran to his motorcar in the gravel drive.

what our family needs can only come from God."

"I have to get the police. It’s not like Lilly to just disappear. I’m going to

In the morning what remained of the Miller family boarded up their

Stillwater for help."

summerhouse and loaded the car with suitcases readying for the long trip to

Rose and her two other children, George and Ruth, were fearful that sweet

Brooklyn. Sam, a successful haberdasher, had purchased the property as a

Lilly might have drowned.

summer retreat in 1918. It was a two-day trip by motorcar from New York City,

Why did I let her go out alone in the rain? wailed Rose.

but the family spent the entire summer there away from the heat of the city.

Mom, Lilly went near the lake all the time. No one worried about her,

They had enjoyed the warm days by the lake and the cool nights on the porch.

said George.

Now it had all changed.

I know something bad has happened. I can feel it, said Rose.

The boarded-up house would be put up for sale by a local realtor, and the

The police arrived in less than an hour, but by then it was almost dark.

Millers would never return to Lake Spotswood. Life would go on, but healing

They did what they could by candlelight and torches, but turned up nothing.

would take time and would never be complete.

By the morning, they had dozens of local and state police, search dogs, and

Of course, all this despair could not have mattered to the gawky, obese

volunteer divers. They combed the woods and searched the lake while Rose

teen who had watched the frantic search for Lilly Miller. He even had a faint

and Sam Miller, out of their minds with fear, clutched to the faint fl icker of

smile on his face.

hope that Lilly may still be alive.

After fi ve days, the search was called to a halt. She had simply disap-

peared and was assumed drowned. There were some who feared the worst and

thought that she had been abducted and probably murdered. The authorities

had a different theory and declared on day six that Lilly Miller had most likely

drowned and that her body was caught in submerged trees and brush so preva-

lent at this end of the lake. The lake was muddy and deep, and there was a limit

to what divers could see. Besides, her rowboat and rain slicker were found by

the shore.

Rose and Sam Miller were in a state of shock and could barely function. A

doctor was called, and he gave Rose a sedative and then sat with Sam and the

two children.

"Mr. Miller, what can we do to help you and your family get through this

tragedy?"

"Doctor, there is nothing you or anyone can do or say that will lift this

heaviness from my heart or stop the tears from fl owing. I will take my wife and

vi

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PART ONE

The Camp

Summer of 1959

CHAPTER ONE

It was truly an exciting time for me. I had graduated from high school a

week before and would be off to college in Pennsylvania in the fall, but

now I was preparing for my new role, camp counselor. I had been a camper

for eight weeks almost every summer since age nine, and now I would be a full-

fledged counselor, the first at Camp Spenser who was not a college student or

college graduate.

I was busy packing when my dad came into my room.

"Do you need any help, Bob? I’m in for the evening, and my expertise is

getting twenty pounds of clothes in a ten-pound suitcase."

"Thanks, Dad, but I’m almost done and I don’t have much to take. I will

need some help later when we load the car."

"You got it. We’ll have dinner in about an hour; something special mom

whipped up for your last night."

I fi nished packing and took a quick shower before the evening meal. I

couldn’t wait for the morning to meet the staff, some old friends, and my camp-

ers. I loved camp life, and now I would have responsibility and play a part in the

growth of young boys. I just had a special fondness for Camp Spenser. Set on

a hill overlooking Lake Spotswood, it was a series of rustic cabins, ball fi elds,

swim-areas, and a boathouse, all dominated by a huge lodge. I remembered

summers of swimming, boating, softball, archery, hiking, canoe trips, arts and

crafts, and, most importantly, wonderful friendships. Many of my bunkmates

in those days were from my hometown. We had gone to school together, and

now we spent our summers at Camp Spenser. We were the crème-de-la-crème,

the all-American boys when it was popular to be so.

During those years in the early 1950s, our parents wanted us at camp for

the summer for two reasons: the polio epidemics of the late forties and to have

3

B r u c e I . B r o d k i n

S p o t s w o o d

peace and quiet for two months. This was OK with me, as polio was scary. I

I was fl attered when Mom said, "Bob, this special dinner is for you. We’ll

had a friend who got it and had to live in a metal container called an iron lung

miss you and we wish you success in your new job and your upcoming fresh-

in order to breathe. Imagine living in a metal tube, not being able to walk or

man year in college."

breathe on your own. He was paralyzed from the neck down, although his mind

Dad followed with a toast to his lovely wife and his accomplished children

was perfect. As far as I was concerned, that was the pits. I’d rather be dead. We

and commented on how blessed he was.

didn’t know how someone got polio, some kind of virus, I think—but no one

As we ate and chatted, I thought about how fortunate our family was. My

contracted it in the country. It was a city disease for the most part, spread in

folks had worked hard, lived through tough times, and provided my sister and

swimming pools, amusement parks, and confi ned spaces, or so my parents said.

me with security, love, and good values.

At camp, my folks assured me that I couldn’t get it. I felt invincible.

My mother came from a wealthy Brooklyn family and had married my

I did remember one argument with my mother in 1950. School was out and

father during the depression years. They struggled during the early days of

my older sister and her friends wanted to take me to Olympic Park, an amuse-

my dad’s medical practice, and when they fi nally saw the light at the end of the

ment place in nearby Irvington. We would take a bus and go on rides all day,

tunnel, Mom got pregnant with my sister and then had me just before Pearl

maybe even swim in the Olympic-sized pool.

Harbor. We moved from relative to relative while Dad spent two years in the

"No way, Bob. You and Ginny have no chance of going. Between polio

Pacifi c. Mom never complained, although we knew she was worried sick about

and perverts, you and your sister must be out of your minds. Don’t even try to

her husband. Dad made it home after the Japanese surrendered, and several

argue. The answer is no. I don’t know what your sister is thinking."

years later we moved to Millburn.

"But Mom, all the kids go there. I’m the only one who hasn’t. Please,

My sister, Virginia, is almost four years my senior and perfect: pretty, pop-

please. I promise I won’t get sick, and I’ll stay with Ginny like glue."

ular, and smart. A hard act to follow through grade school, junior high, and

Forget it, Bob. The answer is no, and that’s fi nal.

high school; not that we were competitive.

And so it was. There was no arguing with Mom when she had made up

The roast was perfect, tender and succulent, and I outdid myself with two

her mind.

big slabs, to the delight of my mother, who got great joy out of feeding people.

After the dishes were cleared, the piece de resistance was served: strawberry

***

shortcake. Mom had gone all out.

That night I slept like a baby without a care in the world and awoke to the

After toweling off, I fi nished packing, and Dad helped me load the car. We

smell of fresh brewed coffee. I got out of bed, put on a pair of shorts and a

would leave late Friday morning, and the kids would be arriving on Sunday.

Millburn High School t-shirt, and walked into the kitchen.

Mom was bustling about with my sister, home from college, putting the

Coffee smells great, Mom.

fi nishing touches on dinner. It smelled wonderful. She had set the table in

"I’ll pour you a cup. Dad is shaving and will be here in a sec. I’m letting

the dining room, which was rarely used except for company and on holidays.

Ginny sleep late."

We usually ate in the kitchen. She even had candles, although it was not Friday

I glanced at the kitchen clock and could not believe it was nine.

night.

"I can’t believe I slept this late. I guess I needed time to digest that incred-

Once seated, Dad gave the blessing, and Mom then disappeared into the

ible meal. You are the best."

kitchen and returned with a beautiful rib roast surrounded by oven-roasted

I leaned over and gave my mother an affectionate hug and a kiss on the

potatoes. My sister followed with a bowl of peas with tiny pearl onions and a

cheek. She beamed.

basket fi lled with warm dinner rolls. This was incredible, a real feast.

4

5

S p o t s w o o d

I unpacked my two suitcases and made the bed. I chose the upper bunk

on the front left side.

What are your plans for the fall? Jim asked.

Going to Lafayette, a real sin in our family of Lehigh alums. Lafayette

and Lehigh had an intense rivalry for sixty years, almost as intense as Army and

CHAPTER TWO

Navy. My going to Lafayette was akin to marrying out of my religion.

Jim laughed, perhaps remembering his choice of Cornell when his whole

blue-blood family went to Harvard. Although Cornell was Ivy League, Harvard

was Harvard.

"At lunch we’ll meet everyone and schmooze. Then we’ll do a little jog if

you’re up to it, maybe shoot some hoops, whatever. At dinner we get the list of

At ten-thirty we left for the two and one -half hour drive to Camp Spenser,

near Stillwater in Sussex County, New Jersey. My sister had staggered out

of bed in time to give me a kiss good-bye, but passed on the invitation to join

the campers with short bios, listen to speeches, and get oriented."

us for the drive to camp.

Jim was a real fi tness nut, and a jog with him would work up a sweat. He

It was a crystal clear, warm mid June morning, not a cloud in the sky, and

was tall, almost 6’2", and muscular. As a freshman he made a name for himself

I prayed silently that the fi ne weather would continue. Rainy weather put a

in a pretty tough sport, lacrosse.

damper on camp activities. We arrived at the lodge at twelve forty-fi ve, and my

Yeah, I could use a little work. A jog would do me good. At 5’11", I was

folks were about to help me down the hill to my cabin when I was spotted by a

hopefully still growing. I’d barely started shaving, and at eighteen, I looked sixteen,

friend from the previous year, Jim Butler.

a source of constant embarrassment. But my sister’s friends thought I was good

"Hey, Bobby boy, how are you? And, by the way, how’s that good-looking

looking, and I never had trouble getting a date. I had brown hair, brown eyes, a

sister of yours?"

good complexion, and broad shoulders. I was fairly athletic, although not a star by

We’re just fi ne, both of us. It’s great to see you.

any stretch of the imagination. I had a pretty good academic record in high school

"Dr. and Mrs. Berman, it’s good to see you both again. I’ll take good care

and would go premed in college. God forbid if anyone in our family wasn’t a doctor.

of Bob; you have nothing to worry about."

I changed into running shorts, and Jim and I headed out for a quick (and

Dad started to pick up a piece of luggage, but Jim stopped him.

exhausting) three miles. Luckily, it was not humid.

No Doctor. I’ll carry the bags with Bob. We’re going to cabin fi ve.

So tell me about your fi ne sister.

"In that case, we might as well say our good-byes here. No need to navi-

"Jim, she already fi nished college. You’re going to be a junior. She dates

gate the hill."

guys who are pushing thirty."

Mom did not look happy, as I think she wanted to make up my bed and

I can still hope.

make sure I was settled, but she acquiesced to Dad, and they prepared to leave.

"Don’t waste your time. She fi nished Syracuse with straight A’s and is off

Dad shook my hand, patted me on the shoulder, and told me he was proud of

to medical school in Philadelphia in the fall."

me. Mom, on the other hand, embarrassingly kissed me and gave me a huge

She’s a tough act to follow, Bobby boy.

hug in front of Jim and several members of the staff.

Jim had a thing for my sister after seeing her last year at Visitors’ Day.

As Jim and I walked down the hill toward the cabins, he updated me on

Unfortunately my sister didn’t really notice.

the plans for the day. Lunch was at 1:30, giving me time to unpack and make

I made it through the run, winded, but feeling a sense of accomplishment.

up my bed.

We shot hoops with a several other counselors for about an hour, and then

6

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B r u c e I . B r o d k i n

S p o t s w o o d

took a refreshing swim in the cold lake. After a long shower and change of

My other claim to fame during my camp years came in the horseshoe pit,

clothes, we walked up the hill to the lodge for dinner.

of all places. During the fi nals of an intense competition, I stepped up against

It was a beautiful, balmy evening with a light breeze, causing Old Glory to

the defending champ from the year before. After splitting the fi rst two games

billow on the fl agpole. The lodge was imposing, a huge structure overlooking

in the best of three, it came down to the last two throws for both of us, the

the cabins and the lake below. The building was made of weathered logs and

score tied. My opponent went fi rst and heaved the shoe directly at the metal

had a huge wraparound porch. It housed the kitchen, mess hall, infi rmary,

stake. It landed with a clunk, slid down the pole and stayed precariously as a

laundry, arts and crafts and nature rooms, and the mailroom. The canteen was

leaner. He smirked. It was now my turn, and my only thought was to dislodge

in an adjacent small building and was the most popular spot at camp. The kids

his leaner. I carefully took aim, threw, and watched in disbelief as my shoe hit

had accounts set up by their parents and could purchase candy, pens and pen-

his leaner and bounced harmlessly away. We each had one throw left, and it was

cils, postcards, playing cards, toilet articles, paperbacks, arts and crafts supplies,

do or die. Alas, my opponent’s aim was true, and with his last throw he made a

and numerous other items.

ringer but dislodged his leaner. It was now up to me. Only a ringer would help.

From what I heard, a house had been abandoned on the lake and back taxes

If not, I was an also-ran, a has-been at age twelve. I let fl y, and the crowd

were owed. The town of Stillwater repossessed the house, which happened to

around the pit gasped as my shoe landed just short of the stake, fl ipped over,

have two thousand feet of lake frontage, a huge boathouse, and two hundred

and slid forward.

acres. It sold for a song at auction, back taxes were paid, and Camp Spenser

As the dust settled, the referee ran toward the stake to make a ruling. He

had been born. Over the years cabins were added, docks built, ball fi elds laid

knelt and then took a ruler out of his pocket. Could it be that close? Time

out, and the lodge constructed. Now, thirty-fi ve years later, it would be home

stood still as he measured and re-measured to see if the prongs of the shoe

to ninety-six campers, six junior counselors, twelve counselors, administrative

had cleared the stake. Finally, after what seemed hours, he declared my shot

staff, a nurse, a cook, instructors, maintenance staff, and counselors-in-training

a ringer. Incredibly, I had won by covering his ringer with one of my own. I

for eight weeks.

became an icon, a legend in my own mind.

The rest of the property around the lake was largely undeveloped, with just

a handful of private summer homes. Only one house was winterized, and as far

***

as I knew, it belonged to a widower named Lester Cartright who worked for the

state highway department. I found him to be kind of an odd duck who helped

Standing on the porch of the lodge, I could see cabin 5-my cabin. Like the

with occasional maintenance work and was hired to drive us to neighboring

lodge, it was made out of rustic logs, with wooden steps leading up to doors,

camps for ball games or swim meets or to bring our canoes to the Delaware

which slid into recessed grooves when opened. There were four bunk beds

Water Gap for trips down the river. He had a good-sized truck, and I guess the

around the periphery, two to each side, with windows to the side of each bed.

extra bucks came in handy.

Of course, there were no screens. There were cubbies at the far wall to store

The lake was about a mile and a half in length, half a mile wide, deep and

clothes. There was one single bed in the middle of the cabin. Trunks were

cold. There were a lot of reeds at both ends, supposedly making it good for

kept under the lower bunks to get them out of the way and store extra clothes.

bass fi shing. As a camper I had met the challenge of my peers, successfully

The boy in the middle bunk would keep his truck at the foot of his bed as a

swimming the length of the lake, followed by two rowboats fi lled with the

common sitting area.

swimming instructor, a lifeguard, and my counselor; sort of overkill on the

There was a central washroom near the cabins with shower stalls and a

safety end. I remember my greeting and short-lived adulation when the feat

huge round sink with foot pedals to turn water on or off for washing hands and

was announced at evening mess. I was a star, at least for one evening.

faces and brushing teeth. It could accommodate about twelve boys at a time,

8

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S p o t s w o o d

which turned out to be ample, as the water was lukewarm at best. There would

Al had taken over as the camp’s director with the retirement of the beloved

be no dilly-dallying. The bathroom, called the latrine, was a separate building at

Cap Hanson. Cap would be a hard act to follow, although Al seemed quite

the edge of the woods. It was not an outhouse but had fl ush toilets and urinals.

capable of holding his own. Cap had made the camp into a success with a

Unfortunately, there were no partitions between the toilets, so privacy did not

long waiting list. He had made boys into young men with a program fi lled with

exist. Hey, this was camp, not a hotel. Because the latrine was away from the

activities, sports, and camaraderie, and had instilled self-reliance and spirituality

cabins, it would be scary for a boy to go to the bathroom at one in the morning

in the campers. He had taught them life skills in a fun atmosphere. Aside from

with only a fl ashlight in hand. I had memories of hoping that someone in my

the usual swimming, boating, softball, archery, and arts and crafts, Cap had also

cabin had to also go when I woke up to pee. Going alone was frightening, but

built a chapel- by- the- lake for evening vespers and Sunday services.

waking your counselor to accompany you was out of the question.

Al now introduced his staff: Betty Sloan, the nurse; Bernie Allen, the assis-

Jim tapped me on the shoulder and said, it’s time for dinner, buddy.

tant director; Bob Beebe, the athletic and swim director; Nellie Flanders, the

cook; and Bob Williams, arts and crafts and nature lore. Several I had already

***

known from years past, and I liked what I saw in the new staff.

After short speeches and dinner, we adjourned and received our campers’

I recognized many of the staff, especially the counselors from years past. With

lists, short bios, and special needs. I would have eight boys for eight weeks, and

each handshake and backslap, memories of good times resurfaced. We chit-

I knew that most would be apprehensive, but after a few days, the ice and fear

chatted for several minutes before the bell sounded for us to be seated. We

would be broken, and camp life would become something special.

haphazardly sat at tables set up around the head table and awaited introductions.

In the middle of the head table sat Al Simmons, the camp director. Al was

a former athletic director at a large high school in Central New Jersey and was

now semiretired. He still had the body of a jock, though he was probably close

to sixty. He was still powerfully built and looked like he could do a hundred-

yard dash in ten-fl at, followed by fi fty push-ups. He had been quite an athlete

in high school and college. He could run, pass, catch, swim, shoot. You name

it, and he could play it.

With him at the head table were his wife, Kathy, and his daughter, whom he

introduced as Jean. Kathy was blonde, pretty, and athletic-looking, the perfect

match for All-American Al. However, she appeared to be much younger than

Al, and Jean I guessed to be about sixteen or seventeen. I presumed that either

he had married late in life or it was a second marriage and Jean was his step-

daughter. Jean could be a problem, especially with my newly raging hormones.

She was adorable; a real beauty, with long, lean legs, breasts just starting to

develop, and a smile that could knock your socks off. Since my love life was

nonexistent and Jean was too young for most of the counselors, I started to

plan my introductions and strategize a way to ingratiate myself.

10

11

S p o t s w o o d

Jeffrey Lebowitz: age eleven. From his application I knew he was over-

weight. I also knew that the others would probably pick on him. This would

be a potential problem, and I would have to keep an eye on things. He was also

the youngest, as he had just turned eleven in May.

Kenny Sawyer: age twelve. His name and picture on the application made

CHAPTER THREE

me think of Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer. He had red hair and that mischievous

look of a real devil, probably a lovable troublemaker and a practical joker.

Paul O’Neill: age eleven. A nice-looking kid with blond hair and blue eyes.

His parents stated in confi dence that he had been a bed wetter until recently.

Steve Wilder: age twelve. Camp experience at Boy Scout and YMCA facili-

ties. He fi t in well and was reliable and well- liked. He could be counted on

Back in my cabin, as I looked down the list, I couldn’t help but think of

my first days as a camper, nervous but eager, anticipating the best and

the worst. Being away from home for an entire summer was scary, and I must

during those early days when the other kids were getting acclimated to camp

admit that I was homesick at first, but the thought of freedom and being with

life.

buddies my age was appealing and exciting.

There you have it – my charges for eight weeks.

I turned my attention to the list.

Danny Golden: age eleven and never away from home before. Shy, intro-

***

spective, nonathletic, but smart. His parents were concerned about his frail

build and asthma. They included numerous notes about his medications. His

I spent Saturday going over activities lists and plans for the fi rst week, with

dad was a doctor, and I could already see that the family was nervous about

breaks to shoot baskets with Jim and play a pick-up softball game with other

their little boy being away from home. Danny’s next eight weeks would be

counselors. After lunch I took a short swim. Jim had asked me to join him and

benefi cial for his self-reliance and self-worth if I could get him through the

a couple of buddies for a movie and pizza in Newton, the closest big town

fi rst week.

and the county seat of Sussex County. We would leave early enough to catch a

Bob Moore: age twelve, big for his age and very athletic. He was able to

seven o’clock show. I felt honored to be included but knew that I was probably

hold his own with older and bigger kids. I pegged him for a leader, but he had

considered as a younger brother.

to be watched to make sure he didn’t try to dominate the smaller and younger

It was a beautiful mid-June night, and we all piled into Jim’s old ’52

campers.

Chevy—Arnie Flowers, Bill Chambers, Jim, and me. Arnie had just fi nished

Tony La Rocca: age twelve, from an Italian working-class family in the

his freshman year at Colgate, so we were pretty close in age, although I did not

Vailsburg section of Newark. Unlike Danny and Bob, he was not from a fancy

know him well. I would make it a point to try to strike up a friendship. Bill was

suburb like Short Hills or Millburn. I fi gured that he was probably streetwise

a guy I had known from last year. What I remembered was that he was a real

beyond his years.

intellectual, not a drip or a loner, but someone who was really smart. He was

Mike Kennedy: age twelve. An Irish kid from Orange, New Jersey, the

the only person I had ever met who had been accepted and then turned down

home of Monte Irvin, my hero from the New York Giants of the fi fties. I

Harvard. You just didn’t turn down Harvard, but he did. He was now going

fi gured that he was a tough little kid, as he fi lled out the entire application for

into his junior year at Swarthmore and thriving at the small, elite liberal arts

camp as well as the descriptive material. He just had his parents sign the forms.

college, writing for the school paper and performing in the drama club.

12

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B r u c e I . B r o d k i n

As we drove, I just sat and listened to the chatter with ample kidding, corny

jokes, and comments about girls. Although just a high school kid, I really felt

that I was a part of it. These guys treated me like an equal, a peer, and I ate it

up.

After the movie we shared two pepperoni pizzas and got back to camp at

about eleven. Tomorrow was the big day, the arrival. "Oh, this is going to be a

CHAPTER FOUR

great summer," I thought.

By ten on Sunday morning, cars had started up the dusty camp road. I

could hear the motors whining, see the dust, and faintly make out the

sounds of excited voices. Moms, dads, sisters, brothers, grandparents, friends,

and dogs accompanied the campers to help with trunks, suitcases, knapsacks,

sleeping bags, fishing rods, bats, balls, and mitts. I stood in front of my cabin,

greeting each boy and his family, introducing myself and helping with his be-

longings. By noon all had arrived except Jeffrey Lebowitz. I watched as moth-

ers made up beds, dads helped load cubbies with clothes, and kids greeted one

another and made decisions about taking an upper or lower bunk.

Danny had looked apprehensive, and his mother had immediately taken

over and made up his bed so tightly and neatly that I could have bounced

a quarter off it. His dad, the doctor, had arranged all his medications and

insisted on going over the dosage schedule with me. He stressed that timing

and dosage were of utmost importance and seemed unconvinced that I could

handle it. I hated him immediately.

You look pretty young for a counselor. Dr. Golden said.

I had already pegged him as pompous as I